For Once
by Chiharu-Chan
Summary: [KiriAn] He was free and needed someone to bring reality back to his life. She reached high but always stood firm. They didn't need to come into each others' life again, but they did, and hoped it was a good thing. Kirihara x An. Post Anime.
1. Chapter 1

**For Once**

Prince of Tennis is owned by Konomi Takeshi. This fanfiction is post-anime and takes place in the "**Evidentual**" setting/universe. Post-anime.

Chapter One; _Ketsuya_

- - -

I don't remember when I suddenly inherited this sense of dry humor; I know it's definitely not from my brother. For the longest time, I've always had an opinion. It wasn't always bad, but it was an opinion.

I was halfway through high school when I decided that I couldn't possibly pursue tennis. For one, my interest in the game didn't amount to my lack of interest in brutality. That's about all I saw in my days of watching my brother playing tennis.

Once, I wrote an editorial for the Journalism Club about the sentimentality of men and their less-than-amusing interests in playing sports to prove themselves. My brother, Kepei, laughed and told me it was entertaining. The president of the club totally digged the article; he loved it when people were criticized upon his presence.

It was funny because I wasn't even in the Journalism Club in school. Never had I even thought about writing to burn the time. I was always playing tennis. One would think that it's more entertaining for me to sit on a tennis court, staring at people passing balls back at force on a rectangle. Me, sitting in front of a computer, typing? That was crazy talk.

I'm Tachibana An. Tachibana An. An-chan. Tachibana-san. Whatever. The day I wrote my name down for the Journalism Club signup-sheet, I stared at my name for the longest time. Tachibana An sounded so foreign; I stared and wondered if the name even suited me.

So tennis season came and pass and I found myself in the club room more than the courts I swore to be loyal to. When collage application time came, I didn't go for a tennis scholarship. Instead, I put tennis down as an extra curricular activity on my resume and send it off to Tokyo U's Journalism Department.

My brother didn't have much to say about it. For once, I didn't think he was entitled to commenting. He didn't pursue tennis either; he focused on education and is now a teacher. I personally think it job suits him.

This, in turn, landed me where I am now. Tachibana An, an intern for the Tokyo Post. I never thought I'd make a living by writing semi-cynical articles for a magazine. Then the opportunity came for me to work there, and I snagged it up before anyone would notice that I might not be good enough for it.

I guess that's really my biggest problem. I'm not worried about being out of date. I'd die if one day, my boss woke up and realized that he's actually paying me to write down what I'd usually tell my friends over the phone. I imagine he'd freak, reread all of my articles over, and realize it's mostly, if not all, about the misuse of cliché phrases intended for the last century, people's lack of awareness towards the controversial subject of the media, random moments that profession tennis players seem to be high and slash or how women are making Japan a materialistic country by these fake sediments.

These thoughts came to me about five minutes ago, standing in front of the coffee machine in the hallway.

Sakura, my self-proclaimed inspirational co-worker, blinked at me before taking a seat on the lounge's sofa. "So the Sport's Department's in frenzy, as I hear."

If you must know, the Sports Department usually publishes articles involving gossip about soccer players and their trophy wives, etc. It's really not much about the sport compared to what the _real_ fans want to hear. Of course, I don't tell her that. "Oh, yeah. They don't have anything prepared for next month, do they?"

"Yep." Sakura leans back, sipping onto her coffee mug. "There's some guy they've been attempting to interview, but he keeps on turning them down."

"Maybe he doesn't want his picture blown up on the gossip page." Did I actually say that out loud?

She laughs. "Yeah, true."

"I agree also." Another voice speaks up behind me. I blinked before turning around, staring.

It's Tanaka, the chief of the Sports Department. Tanaka has powers; not the ones where he has laser beans coming out of his eye --although that would be extremely cool--, but he can magically appear when it's least expected. "Sneak", as I verb it.

The man steps out from behind my sofa, leaning in front of the water machine. "But I guess that's what happens when you assign a pack of women to work on sports." Tanaka is probably the only man in his department besides the janitor; I'd feel bad for him if he wasn't so full of himself.

"Is there any chance you could get an interview out of him by assigning someone of another department?" Sakura suggests, blinking.

"Actually, he agreed for an interview a few days ago. The condition is that we send someone with an actual background of tennis; he's a tennis player." Tanaka smirks slowly.

"Hey, An used to play tennis, right?" Sakura turns towards my directions.

I paused. The guy is obvious a lunatic that no one really wants to be near, but me being an intern makes me inclined to take the incentives. So of course, evil, evil An snags the chance to be promoted. "I was in the tennis club, and I played tennis."

"Great, then." Tanaka smiles slowly. This is when I start to get a bad feeling about this. "I'll fax you Kirihara Akaya's address and number."

- - -

Kirihara Akaya isn't really much of a foreign name to me anymore. I haven't personally seen him since my Junior High School days, and even then it was all about competition and tennis. Now, I see him everyday on television.

The guy, as devilish as he may be, somehow ended up as a professional tennis player. I used to wonder how he got into the business while all those _good_ players were MIA, but I'm over it now. There's a lot of talk revolving Kirihara these days, so I couldn't blame the department from wanting an interview from him.

It's just that I think I would be more suited for the job if only I didn't want to waltz over there and kick in from behind. Or just cause a minor injury involving a tennis racket. You know, same difference.

I was trying to pick out an outfit when Kamio called. This suddenly made me guilty, and I decided that Kirihara Akaya wasn't even worth my time of picking out cloth. I was going to wear T-shirt and jeans to his house.

Kirihara didn't own a mansion like I expected. His house was three-stories tall with a pool and tennis court. I wondered if he didn't have _that_ much money, or just didn't feel like hiring maids.

I parked my car out the front, walked into his yard, and rung the doorbell. It opens a few seconds later, and I look down to see crystal blue eyes staring up at me. I secretly note that those are probably the prettiest greenish-blue eyes I have ever seen.

"We don't want to buy anything." The kid is about five years old. Messy black hair and pale skin, he's definitely Kirihara's kid.

I remember reading a few articles about Kirihara's son, but I pushed it aside as tabloid. I mean, I work for the media, I should know what's real and what's not. Apparently, I was wrong.

"Ketsuya, close the door." Speaking of the devil, he comes out into the hall, yawning in his black t-shirt and faded jeans. He took one look at my side-way messenger bag before stepping aside. "Oh, you're with magazine. Come in."

Kirihara's house was more western than oriental. He had curtains, sofas, carpeting and furniture. He took a seat on the coach in the living room, nodding for me to sit down in front of him.

I opened my bag, taking out a notebook and setting the audio recorder on the coffee table.

"Kirihara-san." I look pointedly at him. "Before we begin, I'd like to ask exactly why you agreed for the interview. There was a chance than no one in the department knew anything about tennis, and you had always ignored us before."

He doesn't really reply. I stared as he got up and walking into the kitchen. He comes back, drinking out of a water bottle.

He doesn't offer me anything to drink, as I noted. Somehow, I'm actually glad that I'm allowed to write negative comments.

"You look familiar."

I blink. "Kirihara-san. While I haven't personally attended one of your games, it's easy to mistake people after seeing thousands in the stadium."

"No." He keeps on staring at me. This is making me fidget. "Your hair grew."

"Uh..." I'll be damned if he actually remembered that I had short hair and used to be obsessed with hair-clips. My soft brown hair is still straight, falling onto my shoulder.

I considered running out of the door, but the kid chose that second to storm into the room and jump onto the coffee table. "I'm hungry." The kid's voice is pretty sharp.

"Go back to watching TV, Ketsuya." Kirihara waves him off without turning towards his direction, still staring at me. And get this, the Kid actually grins and listens.

I decided on the idea of fleeing and was about to get up when he finally sat down.

"You're the psycho girl that pushed me down the stairs during tennis camp." He replied, shrugging. "Tachibana Imotou."

"You're delirious." I lie. "I don't know who you're talking about." I thought he was gonna call me a liar and kick me out of the house. In fact, I believe it so much that I'm satisfied with something bad to write about him.

He doesn't.

"Whatever." Kirihara smirks, pointing a shallow scar on right left elbow; I think he's about to hit me. He doesn't, of course. "I had nightmares about girls in tennis skirts, running up and pushing me down the stairs, hill, bridge, and countless other tall objects for weeks."

My curiosity overcomes me. "That's very sad."

"No, actually." He smiles at me, crossing his legs. "My teammates thought it was an attempt to destroy our team before the Nationals. They didn't believe me when I told them it was a girl; we ended up calling a bunch of Seigaku people to confirm it wasn't really a conspiracy."

"Oh, because Seigaku never lies." I roll my eyes.

"No." Kirihara replies semi-seriously. "The doubles pair told Buchou that evil bunnies threw giant hair clips at me and I tripped down the stairs. They got the point and let it drop."

I laughed slightly. I stopped wearing hair clips a long time ago. "I never really apologized, did I?"

He blinks. "It doesn't really matter. I took it in as a lesson on the dangerous impact of the female population." He paused. "You're not gonna quote me on that, are you?"

We both turn towards the audio recorder; the red button's on, meaning it's been recording everything.

"If I have space to fill, I will." I flip my notebook open. Before I came, Tanaka gave me a bunch of questions to ask him. I secretly considered throwing them away, but decided not to after seeing that most of them were tennis-related. "What's your opinion of the last Austrian Open?"

Kirihara paused. "I don't really have much of an opinion on the Opening as opposed to the players. The people were mediocre, and the tennis was easy. It never really became hard until the last match."

"What do you think of Echizen Ryoma's performance in the finals, then?" This wasn't one of the questions.

Kirihara smirks. "The last time I saw the kid, he was two feet shorter than me and wore that weird hat of his. Then I get to the Openings, and he's there. So I'm just like, dazed."

"You can't possibly suggest that you've never read about his success in America?" I blinked.

"You work for the Magazine; you should know that the Newspapers are all biased. I don't really believe all that I read." He shrugs, taking another sip of his water bottle.

"Speaking of the media." I close my notebook and set it aside; we were completely off topic now, there's was no point to keep up. "What do you think of their mental image of you? Positive or Negative?"

"I usually don't ask people for their opinion of me. You work for them, you tell me."

"Alright." I pause. "I didn't believe in the articles about-"

"Ketsuya, right?" He shrugs again. "If I wasn't in the media, they really wouldn't care. But because I play tennis and all that, they take it upon themselves to make everything more far fetched than it really is. I was eighteen, it was legal sex."

I used to imagine writing an article about my experience after being abducted by aliens. Now, Sitting in Kirihara Akaya's living room and talking about sex somehow seemed more sci-fi to me.

"You know." I lose the reporter attitude. "I don't believe in the whole sex and marriage deal, but have you never thought that he'd be happier if he was with his mother?"

"If she was here, he wouldn't be allowed to eat 29 popicles a day or touch fastfood." Kirihara turns to look at the kitchen, where Ketsuya is currently mircowaving a pizza. "This might sound totally shallow on men's point of view, but I always thought it'd be better for him to be free. I can't be a tennis player forever, but he'll get the point and won't dwell upon materialistic things that his mother would spoil him of."

I make a mental note to not ask about the kid's mother.

"Don't you think it's a bad image that forciable tennis might have on you? For him?" I suggest. "He could grow up and developed a strong phobia to tennis after seeing you clobber so many poor by-standers into the ground and never want to touch a tennis ball."

"Well, I have a mental image right now." He laughs, tabbing on his head. "It involves you, sitting in front of the television and avoiding any channels that might be broadcasting one of my games like plague." He's actually right. "Because I lost in interest in making people suffer a long time ago."

"I see. And it involves the mental trauma of having a psycho girl push you down the stairs every time you hurt someone, right?" I guessed.

"You can past for my psychiatrist." He smirks at me.

"That doesn't sound like much of a compliment."

"It probably wasn't." Kirihara smiles at me.

"Right. I shall not ask about that, then." I turn back to the closed notebook, trying to focus on questions. "When should a child start playing tennis if she wants to be professional?"

He ignores my question overall. "You said 'she'."

"Is that against the law?"

"No, but I have developed the idea that you're a sexist in the fifteen minutes that you've been sitting in front of me." He smirks, green eyes flashing. "Is that a positive image you people from the media worry so much?"

For a moment, I'm appalled that he just insulted me. "It depends on what image you already have of my publisher. If we're already bias as you consider, then I really don't care about your personal expectations of me."

"I don't know. I started playing tennis around seven or eight." He either ignores me or has decided that my answer was good enough. "I mean, what could be more fun than hitting a ball back and forth, right? For weeks, I just randomly aimed at the net or the fences. People though I had no talent. Then I got mad and started aiming at _them_, and it worked."

Somehow, his story actually sounds rational. "Do you do this a lot? Tell people all these stuff doing interviews?" I know this probably ruined the whole mood, but some part of my brain reminded me that this might be exactly what I want. I'm upset at myself because I'm feeling so comfortable around Kirihara Akaya.

He gives me a farcical look. I can't tell if he's attempting to be serious or not. "No. But I'm usually prone to sharing more stuff with people I've had experience with. Our wonderful experience involves you pushing me down a flight of stairs and me surviving to tell the tale."

I wish he would stop bringing that up. "Technically, I didn't push you. I went up to slap you and-"

"Yeah, yeah." He cut me off. "I took a step up and tripped myself. Yada, yada. We've all heard of it. Another reporter once asked me about the scar."

I froze. Some part of me hoped that he was too sarcastic to tell them the truth; but it wouldn't really hurt me much. I hope his manager isn't power-hungry and wants to sue me.

The kid chose this exact moment to aim a tennis ball at us. It zooms past the coffee table and hits a vase off the shelf. It falls off and breaks, of course. Kirihara stares it for a second before turning around, pretending not to notice it.

"Where's your housekeeper?" It just accorded to me that no way in hell is Kirihara himself actually keeping his house clean as this.

"She's on her honeymoon." He replies quickly, as if it's an all-nature question people ask him all the time.

"How old is your sister?" I concluded.

"I can't tell if you're psychic, or it's just those powers that reporters have." He looks disturbed, but in an amused way. At least it looks like he's amused.

"Lecher." I declare. "Why can't men just hire a maid instead of using their own family as potential slaves?"

"Are you assigned to ask this question?" Kirihara blinks.

The kid walks up in between us and takes a seat next to his dad. _His dad_. Just saying this sounds weird. Kirihara Akaya, the insane tennis player who is my age, with a five year old. He looks more like a kid himself.

"No." I got back on topic. "But since we've have such a _pleasant_ past-experience, I'm entitled to ask you that." I made all this up on the spot, of course.

"I have problems with people." He shrugged.

"How's that?"

"Sometimes, it's like-" He stops midway. This is the moment of realization when he finally sobers up and realizes that he shouldn't even be telling me all that. But of course, he's not drunk, and he doesn't say it out loud. "Never mind. Don't quote me on that."

"It's a magazine, Kirihara."

"Magazine's are boring." Kirihara Jr. offers his insightful comments. Kirihara himself laughs.

"Can you read?"

"I'm six, not stupid." He folds his arm like I have just offended him. I guess, in a way, I have. "How old are you?" I wonder what the heck Kirihara is teaching this kid.

"Mmmmmm." I paused. The rational answer would be 'same age as your dad'. But I'm not rational. "Older than you."

"What's your name?" The kid looks up sharply at me. Kirihara pretends he's not there, although I doubt that he knows my name either.

"Tachibana."

"Tachibana is the name of my youth group consoler." He chips.

This is when we both turn to stare at him. Me doing so because I just realized that my brother teaches the kid, and Kirihara is staring at him because... I don't know, he's upset that his kid is being subject to a positive influence? I'm horrible, I know. It's the Journalism.

"I don't like him. He's neat and makes us take naps." Ketsuya shrugs in the exactly same manner his dad does, and I realize that he's only a smaller version of the guy himself. "I don't take naps."

Kirihara is satisfied that his kid is rebelling against my brother, typical.

"Do you play tennis?" I try to make the questions short and interesting to the kid. Unconscious, I find that people probably want to read a little about Kirihara's son as well.

"Yeah." Ketsuya paused. "Do you?"

"Yes. Do you like answering people with questions?" The last part wasn't meant to come out. I mean, if Ketsuya was ten or fifteen, then sure. But I'm asking a rhetorical question to a five year-old, and that makes me sad.

"I like confusing people." The kid declares rather randomly. "Play tennis with me? Our court is in the backyard."

"Uh." I wonder if Kirihara doesn't play tennis with his own kid, or maybe he's afraid he'll hurt Ketsuya sense of pride by winning? "Sorry. Not right now, I don't have time. "

"The next time you come over?" The kid looks hopefully, and it makes me sad. Kirihara and I both know what I'll never come here again, because I'm Tachibana An. Even if he personally invited me over, I would never come. Just because, he's Kirihara Akaya and I'm Tachibana An.

- - -

Tanaka is unhappy I didn't use his question. Tanaka is also thrilled that I managed to get so much stuff out of Kirihara. Quite frankly, I really don't care about what Tanaka thinks.

"Good news." I met Sakura next to the coffee machine again. It's our thing, meeting at the coffee machine and discussing random stuff.

"Uh-huh." I nod, waiting for her to continue.

"They're renewing our internship next week. We're both gonna get appointment to departments soon." She's practically radiating a glow of happiness. I wonder if I should as well.

Right now, I'm just submitting articles to the editor. If they're good enough, he'll add them in our weekly editions under whatever topic they might belong. The thought of finally getting assigned to a department is overwhelming, it's like my freedom has just been stolen.

But then again, if they finally assign me, I'll actually be working. I'll be getting paid.

Getting paid is good. Getting paid means I'll have money.

True enough, a few days later, I'm called into the Editor's office. Renoku, that's his name. We call him "Ren". I used to have a stuffed elephant named "Ren"; he laughed when I first told him that. Ren's cool. He's a few years older than me and in control of the whole printing press.

"I enjoyed your last article about Kirihara Akaya." He nodded towards the pile of paper on his desk. This means my article will probably be featured in the next weekly edition. Only deserving manuscripts takes up space on his desk.

"Anyway." He continues. "Let's talk about your internship. You've been here for how long now? Six month?"

I nod.

"That's quite a long time." He adds on. "I want to add you to the Sports Department."

"I only did one article for the Sports." I decided that if I don't speak up now, I'll be stuck with it for the rest of my journalism career. Then I'd have to find another job, and that's too much work. "What about International News, Health Issues, _Planting_?" Because, you know, everything is better than Sports.

"I think you'll do well there." Ren continues. "They need a lot of recreation. Our Sports Department is not as up-to-date as I'd like it to be. I think assigning you there will do well."

"I think I'll stick with the internship, thank you."

"How about this?" He leans foreword; Ren always leans foreword on his desk when he thinks he's proposing something big. "You'll be the executive chief of the Sports Department. Try to reform it. And if a few months later, you still hate it, then we'll talk about switching."

I agreed, of course. It's not because he offered me the second-to-best position right off the bat, of course not. The truth is that I'd also like to see what I can do about the Sports Department. How can I call myself a tennis player without evening trying, anyway?

- - -

The next day, I show up at the new department. I am directed towards my personally office and handed a sheet of supplies. Next to each line, there's a little box to file for whatever I need.

"Get everything." Tanaka says to me. "They'll give you stuff as long as you're new. A week after, you'll have to wait three months for a pack of stables. And believe me; it doesn't matter if you're the head of any department. Ren likes that."

I take his advice and check everything.

I took the liberty of decorating my new office. It's pretty small, but big enough. I make a mental note of bringing something's for the walls; they're too white and plain.

I was left to ponder on what I'm supposed to do when there's a knock on my door. Tanaka doesn't wait for me to open it before he does so himself, poking his head in. "I'm leaving early today; you can take care of stuff, right?"

"Sure."

"I have an interview with a new intern around three." He held out a folder. "Here's her resume, look it over. It's your decision if you want her or not."

I feel powerful. "I'll take care of it."

"Cool." Tanaka leaves.

Osakada Tomoka showed up at my office that afternoon. It took me a few minutes to recognize her as the truly psychotic girl who used to stalk Echizen Ryoma's everywhere. Her resume wasn't very impressive, but her columns were fun to read.

She sits in front of me, silently fidgeting

I put down her folder. She freezes as if I'm about to decided the path of her life. "Osakada-san? This is random, but do you remember me?"

She blinks. "Not really." She's upset that this would jeopardize her chance.

I laughed. "That's too bad. We worked for the Tennis Camp together."

She lightens up. "Tachibana-san! I remember." She paused. "But I was told to meet a Tanaka Hirokeu here?"

"He left early." I explained. "I'm the executive-chief of the department; I have to pick up his slacks. It's funny, though. I've been seeing a lot of tennis-related people lately."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind." I smiled, turning towards her application. "An internship would be promising for you. Come tomorrow morning and Tanaka will discuss your first assignment."

Osakada brightens up, thanking me before leaving my office.

Osakada was a promising individual. The truth was also that I remembered something else. She is the best-friend of Ryuzaki Sakuno. Besides Kirihara, Echizen Ryoma is also a big name in the Tennis World. Ryuzaki Sakuno happens to be the mother of his twins.

Some people believe it to be tabloids, but I could take a chance with this.

I'm horrible, I know. It's journalism.

_**TBC**_

Imoutou- younger sister. I remember how Momo always called An by that instead of her name.

Ketsuya- I wanted to name him 'Katsuya' at first, but I decided 'Ketsuya' was a little better.

The thing about Sakuno is… Well. Take note that this takes place in the **Evidentual** universe. And of course, if you want to read that, it's on as well.

**.Chiharu**


	2. Relationship

**For Once**

Prince of Tennis is owned by Konomi Takeshi. This fan fiction is post-anime and takes place in the "Evidentual" setting/universe. Post-anime. Warning for OOC. XD;

**Chapter One; Relationship**

Sometimes I wonder how the world would revolve if people had no intention to change. Would my brother still be a tennis player? Would everything stayed the way it was forever? Would I still be little Tachibana An, the little sister of the captain of Fudoumine. Would Kamio-kun and I have stayed together after that simple brief moment of romance?

Supposedly, it was wrong to lead someone as nice as Kamio-kun on, and we broke up after awhile. I found out that our friendship somehow strengthened after that, so maybe we were never supposed to be together. It's the thought of knowing that even though we tried, we weren't meant to be with each other that drove us on. Maybe we were both waiting for The Right One to come.

After college, my question got answered in the most unlikely way. Kamio-kun, unwillingly, joined The Atobe Corporation as a low level office worker. Everything had been fine until Atobe himself noticed Kamio-kun, and then he took it upon himself to annoy Kamio-kun.

I suppose even if Kamio-kun wanted change, he was too afraid of it. His grades were average and his tennis skills –as he painfully admitted after a few years- were also average. In some sadistic part of my mind, I had been waiting for him to admit it to me and to himself.

At first, we used to sit down for coffee every week. He'd complain to me about how much he hates his job, and I'd try to convince him to find another job. He'd shrug me off, muttering something about the pay. I used to find advertisements in the newspaper and cut them off, put them into the second drawer of my desk and save it for when Kamio-kun finally looked for another job. A year later, I found the drawer overflowed with newspaper cropping. Kamio-kun was still miserable, and I knew by then that he'd never change. I threw everything in the drawer away, and made a note to send coffee to Kamio-kun's office every morning. He'd need it.

Throughout the years, the only one I've managed to keep up with, besides Kamio-kun, is probably Shinji-kun. I still remember when he called me once during my last year of high school. He blabbed on from the topic of whale fat to something involving trees when my brother found me falling asleep by the phone. It was then that he finally admitted that he actually called for my brother.

Nowadays, I have no clue about Shinji-kun's job. He'd show up once or twice for coffee, then he'd leave town. Kamio-kun and I had no clue about his job. One day he'd declare that he was a professional plumber, and the next time we saw him, he'd be selling kids ice cream. Sometimes, I wondered if my brother knew what Shinji-kun's real job was. He probably did know, but I never bothered to ask him. It was more fun that way.

I think its things like this that scare me the most. I'm afraid of change, probably even more than Kamio-kun. I don't want to see old friends of mine become something else. I didn't want the old memories of them to fade away. I didn't want the old memories of the tennis court to fade away, and I suppose that's why I watch as many tennis matches as I can. In all honestly, my interest of tennis died away years ago, but I watch it because I didn't want to forget those memories that were locked inside those plain green courts.

But, alas, things never go my way. People change. I changed. It was for that reason I found myself sitting in Fuji Syusuke's office, staring at the plain white walls framed with photos of playing tennis.

"Ah, An-san."

I turn around in my chair, casting a small grin towards Fuji's direction. "Fuji-kun."

"How are you?" He smiles at me, taking time to examine the frames on his wall.

"I'm fine." Pausing, I decid to test my luck a little. "You know, Fuji-kun, it's funny. I've been seeing a lot of old faces from the past these past few days."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Just last month I interviewed Kirihara, and afterwards Osakada Tomoko applied for a position at my work place. One of these days, I'm expecting Echizen Ryoma himself to show up."

Fuji turns around, staring at me.

I smile pleasantly at him. "How's Aelita-chan?"

"She's doing great." Fuji loosens up at the mention of his adopted daughter.

"How's Sky-kun?" I smirk knowingly at him.

Fuji freezes up at the mention of his godchild. "Kai-kun is doing fine, An-san. As is his mother and the rest of his family."

"Isn't he around the age of attending grade school?" I go on. "Which school is he attending?"

"I don't know." Fuji smiles at me. "Now, An-san. You didn't come all the way from Tokyo to visit me just to ask about my godson, did you?"

"No." Knowing that my luck was gone, I sat up. "I'm actually here regarding your photography school."

"Oh?" Now the ball was in his court, and Fuji defiantly isn't going to let me win easily. I suppose I deserved it for mentioning Ruyzaki and Echizen's son. "What do you need me for?"

"Well." I pause, trying to start my reply in a professional tone and failing horribly. "I'm working for the sports department of The Tokyo Post, and I wanted to see if you-"

"Had any photographers to recommend to you." He smiles at me. "Right?"

It's scary how he can tell from these things. "We're in dire need of some good photographers. Unfortunately, our department needs a lot of work aside from just lacking writers with any actual knowledge on sports." Over the years, I've learned something with talking to Fuji. He knows everything, so there's no point in hiding it. Yet, he takes pleasure in me admitting it myself, so he pretends as if he has no clue what you're talking about.

"Ah." He frowns at me. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Unfortunately." He smiles at me. "My students are more nature-orientated. Sports are not their forte, and I'm afraid that most of them are not interested in it. Can you name one reason why any photographer would be interesting in taking pictures of people playing sports?"

I pause. Of course, I had planned a speech to counter his question days ago. "I think sports, like nature, are so fleetingly. It's impossible to catch the course of action as it happens, but if a photographer can capture the determination and passion from the players, then that photographer is impressive indeed."

Fuji smiles at me. "I'll send a few of my photographers over next week."

I won.

**

* * *

**

I look up at Osakada, frowning. "Why not?"

"Well." She shifts in her seat, looking extremely uncomfortable. "See, tomorrow is my friend's birthday. And I promised I'd baby-sit for her. I just really can't go."

I eye her slowly. "You're refusing your first assignment as an intern?"

Tomoka bites her lips. "Yes." She's got spunk, and I suppose that's what I like the most about her.

"Alright. I'll get someone else to cover the game for you." I shrug. "Just don't do this again, okay?"

"Thank you so much!" She bows at me, standing up to grab her bag as she exited my office.

It wasn't as if I didn't know that Kirihara's match would be on the same day as Ryuzaki Sakuno's birthday. I just wasn't sure if I was only assigning it to Osakada because I knew she'd refuse the job, or because I wanted to see Kirihara myself.

The next day, I grab a taxi and headed off for the tennis stadium in Shinjuku. It wasn't as if I'm a very puncture person, because I'm not, but Kamio-kun had asked me to get him some take-out from a restaurant near Harajuku when he heard that I was heading there. I'm not sure if he knew I was only going there for Kirihara's match.

I blink as the cashier returns my change. Muttering a small thanks, I stuff the take-out box in my bag and head into the streets. Pulling out a ruffled map, I head in the direction of the stadium.

Or not.

Pausing at the small tug on the end of my shirt, I look down. It wasn't as if I'd forget those eyes anywhere, but I manage to do a double-take and made sure that, yes, Kirihara Ketsuya was grinning up at me.

"Hi!" He chips happily.

"Eh, hi." I look around. "Where's your dad?"

"Oh." The kid grins up at me. "He's getting ready for the game. Miya-chan was on the phone with her boyfriend again, so I got the ice cream by myself." He holds a strawberry cone up at me.

I smile, wondering how much Kirihara would freak out when he realize that his babysitter had lost his kid. "Lucky for you, I'm heading to the stadium too."

"Oh." Ketsuya takes a bite out of his cone. "Well, see you later." He turnes around, walking away before I pulls on the hood of his shirt. Jerking back, he turns around, rubbing his head and frowning at me. "Heeey! Why did you do that?"

"Aren't you heading back?" I pause. "You know, to find you dad?"

"No." He stares at me as if I had just suggested the stupidest idea in the world. "Why would I do that? I finally lost Miya-chan. They won't notice I'm gone until the game's over!"

I give him a look. "They'd be worried."

He giggles, licking off his ice cream. "No he won't!"

"Don't be stupid, come with me." I tug on his arm, pulling him along the streets.

"NOOOO!" –And the kid manages to prove himself to be more annoying than his father as he screeches on the top of his lungs. The people on the street began staring at me, and I immediately let go of the kid.

Frowning, I kneel down. "Okay, fine. Where do you want to go?"

He grins. "Let's go to the beach!"

I pause, not bothering to point out that there's no beach nearby. "Don't you want to go watch your dad play tennis?"

"No." The kid shakes his head at me. "I want to go to the beach!"

Despite my strong dislike towards Kirihara, I'm not about to let his kid wander around Shinjuku by himself. Sighing, I pat him on the head. "Do you mind if I come with you?"

"Nope!" Ketsuya stuffs the rest of his ice cream cone into his mouth, whipping the mess off with the back of hand.

I call for a taxi.

"Hey!" The kid frowns at me. "We're back at the stadium. You said we were going to the beach!"

I shrug. "I lied."

Ketsuya giggles. "I like you!"

"Good for you." I grab him by the hand, making sure he wouldn't run off as we head into the seats. The ticket-collectors grin at the kid, and it was then I notice the ticket hanging across his neck in a little plastic chain.

"Do I have to sit with you?" He frowns.

"Don't you like me?" I grin at him.

The kid giggles, stretching himself across my lap. "I'll sleep!"

The game, interestingly enough, was amusing to watch. I managed to take some notes as the kid slept on my lap. It wasn't that I like kids –because I think they're annoying and loud-, but Kirihara's on was almost as insane as himself.

I shake Ketsuya lightly as people began getting off their seats, heading out the exits after the game.

The kid stirs, rubbing his eyes. "Mmm?"

"Ketsuya, wake up."

"Mommy?"

I pause. "No. It's me, An. Remember?"

"Oh." He sits up, frowning. "You're not Mommy."

I pause. "I'm sorry."

The kid blinks at me. "Why are you sorry?"

I'm not exactly sure myself. "Come on; let's go get something to drink, and then we can go find your dad."

"Poo." He sticks his tongue out. "I don't want to."

"That's too bad, but you know, you can't always get what you want." I declare semi-jokingly as I grab his hand, heading out into the half-full aisles.

"… You look like my mommy, you know."

I froze, looking down at him. "Do I really?"

"Yes… But you don't act like her at all." Ketsuya lookes down at his feet, laded in Nike shoes. "My mommy never talked to me. I don't remember what she looks like; I just remember that her hair was pretty like yours."

I pause, twirling my finger into my messy strawberry blonde hair. "Eh, thank you." Unconsciously, I tighten my hold on his hand as we headed into the halls.

The kid keeps quite as he walks by my side, speaking up after a moment of awkward silence. "His room his that one." He points to the door on the right.

I reach at the doorknob, frowning at the yelling coming from the inside. The door opens, and a tear-struck teenage girl steps out, blinking at us. "Ketsuya-kun!"

The kid looks up guiltily. "Hi Miya-chan!"

"Miya, go get Ketsuya something to eat." Kirihara speaks up from inside the room. I frown at him as the girl nods. "You, come in."

I pause, closing the door behind me. It wasn't that Kirihara was particularly attractive with his sweaty or eyes red. "Do you need something?"

"Where did you find him?" He runs a hand through his hair.

"On the streets." I shrug, leaning against the door. "He wanted to go to the beach."

Kirihara takes the towel off from his neck, throwing it aside. "I'm a bad father, aren't I? He doesn't even want to be with me."

"Moaning about it isn't going to change anything." I pause. "But, yes. You're a horrible father. How could you let him out of your sight? You should've at least hired a more responsible babysitter. If I hadn't found him, he knows what would've happened to hi-"

"Shut up!" Eyes blood-shot, Kirihara snaps at me.

I flinch. "You shut up!"

He stares at me. I reminded myself that his eyes were bloodshot again, like the many times when he felt like hurting someone. I consider walking out on him before he does something stupid.

"You don't know anything about me!" Kirihara snaps at me. "Why didn't you call me to tell me about Ketsuya or something!"

"Oh, please!" I growl. "It's not like didn't _just_ notice that he was gone."

He stops.

"Che." I head for the door. "It's like you care more about tennis than you do about him."

"You wouldn't understand."

"You're still a bastard."

"Of course I'm still a bastard. I'll always be." He stares me. "Did you think anything would change that?"

"Your eyes are red again." I take a seat, crossing my legs.

"It happens when I'm mad."

"You're not suited to be a father, you know." I declare causally, waiting for his reply. "I've been wondering all along why the two of you didn't just give him up when you had the chance."

"She never told me she was pregnant." He sits down. "She was the one that didn't want to give him up. I the end, she couldn't take the responsibility of being a parent." He takes out a box of cigarette as he runs a hand through his hair. "She's one of those girls that just go with the flow. She was never one of those people that stayed in the past. When I think about it, that's stupid because I'm not ready either."

He's been with you for six years, I want to say. "You shouldn't smoke."

He ignores me, of course. "Some days I don't know what to do with him. He's growing up to be exactly like me."

"You're a mess, Kirihara." I declare.

He laughs, taking a puff out of his cigarette. "I know I am." He pause. "Tachibana?"

"What?"

"What would you have done if you were me?"

"If I had been her?" I pause. "He misses her, you know."

"There's nothing I can do about that." Kirihara replies, looking out the window. For a moment, and just a brief moment in time, he looks sad.

I take a breath, calming down. This job so isn't worth the crap I put through. Being a journalist only reminded me of the things I wished I could forget: tennis, pressure, and Kirihara.

"So how do I make this up to you?"

"What?"

"How do I thank you for getting Ketsuya back?" He replies, turning around. I notice that his eyes were back to its normal green-blue color. He stuffs the end of his cigarette in the ash tray.

"There's nothing you can do to thank me." I stand up, heading out the door.

"You know, I remember why I liked you so much." He speaks up as I opened the door. "You remind me so much of myself."

"I know." I close the door. "That's why I hate you so much."

**

* * *

**

I stare. "What exactly are you telling me?"

Tanaka shrugs. "Due to the sudden increase in fans from your last article, we've asked for another interview with Kirihara."

I twitch inwardly. "Why didn't you tell me this until _now_?"

Tanaka raises an eyebrow. "I thought you knew. He agreed to it last week."

"No, I _didn't_ know." This is exactly why I'm foaming at the mouth right now. "Why would you assume that I'd know just because he agreed?"

"You two aren't friends?"

I groan, rubbing my temples. "No. We're not exactly friends, per se. But since he's already coming over, what I say doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Sorry." Tanaka shrugs as he turned to the coffee machine.

I want to point out the fact that he didn't _sound_ like he was sorry, but, then again, nobody ever mean what they say anymore. "Where's the photo shoot?"

"Downstairs. The photographers are setting up." He pause. "I don't know why you're freaking out about this. It really has nothing to do with the sports department. Ren gave the job to the people down in celebrity news."

I stare at him.

"Your coffee mug's overflowing."

I blink. "Huh, what? Sorry."

"If you're so interested, why don't you go down to look?" He smirked at me. "That photographer from Fuji came as well. Aren't you interested to see who he sent over, at least?"

"Do you _want_ me to go and look or something?"

"Yes, I do. I want you to dig up some stuff from the other departments. I still haven't forgiven them for stealing our lead, because that's just the selfish man I am." He replies, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"Why, then you should've said this beforehand." Make my life more complicated, why don't you? "I'll go and take a look."

My obsessions with Kirihara never really had anything to do with admiration. It was more on the rivaling factor. He's easily despicable, but annoying fun. I never approved of his style of tennis; it was a poor craft to true sportsmanship. He lacked that, and in my mind, he lacked everything else.

Perhaps it was unfair of me to judge someone on such a trivial factor, but without Kirihara, the world would have been a much better place.

To me, at least.

The main reason of my loathing comes from the fact that, although I'm told to be a naturally affable person, I never felt the need to change my opinion of Kirihara. He wasn't someone I needed to come in close contact with until now.

"Let's take a five minute break!"

"Are you Tachibana-san?"

Kansai accent, how fortunate. "Yes, I am. Are you Oshitari?"

"Eh." Tall, dark and beautiful replied. "Yes."

"Oi, I see you met our resident violent journalist." Kirihara decided to join our conversion. "Oshitari, don't tell me that you don't remember her."

"Well, Tachibana is a rather familiar name." Clad in trench-coat, Oshitari scans me over. Of course the main interest of my amusement currently resided on his pedophilic stalker coat while is due to be the topic of many conversations to come. "Oh, I see. You're Tachibana's little sister."

"Fuji sent me this guy?" I turned towards Ren, pointing towards the two tennis players.

"I am the best in the league."

Yes, and _I_ am the prime minister of Japan. "If you say so."

"It seems that you all know each other." Ren patted me on the shoulder, grinning. I'm not sure if this is mainly for the benefit of his magazine that his employees are on a name-calling basis with random celebrities or not. "Reunions are so interesting and all, but shouldn't you be heading back to? I don't pay you to stand around in photo shoots."

"Yes, I'm taking great pleasure in frolicking with them." Turning around, I gave my boss a small waving before heading for the stairs.

**

* * *

**

An hour later, I'm greeted with the sight of Kirihara talking with Tanaka as I head out into the halls.

"An, come over here."

I eye the coffee machine miserably, doing so.

"Kirihara-san just informed me of your previous relationship." Tanaka grins. "Why didn't you inform me of this beforehand?"

"What previous relationship?" I blink, sending a glare towards Kirihara. "If you're talking about the fact that I nearly traumatized him in junior high, then that's about all of it."

"It would've been a shame if I _had_ been traumatized." Kirihara smirks at me.

"You wouldn't have been able to play tennis again, that's all." I shrug aimlessly at him. "You can still survive without playing tennis. After all, _he_ didn't get to play tennis again."

Kirihara flinches at me.

Tanaka smirks. There's no doubt in my mind that Tanaka, the sneak, had already research the old articles on the junior America tournament beforehand. "That's very interesting. I have a proposal to make for the two of you."

"I refuse." Both of us declare.

"I haven't even said anything yet." Tanaka waves us off. "How would the two of you like to be featured in an article about the different opinions of the male and female population? It'll be like a he-said-she-said column."

"Then why don't you ask some other girl to do it?" I turn around, heading back to my old-faithful coffee machine.

"Then it wouldn't be fun anymore, right, _An-chan_?"

I turn around. "Kirihara, you are going _down_."

**TBC**


End file.
